


Shy Moon II: Just The Way You Are

by Matthew1972



Series: Shy Moon Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Amputee Sam Winchester, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Animal Transformation, Bottom Sam Winchester, Cat Castiel (Supernatural), Comfort, Developing Relationship, Dirty Talk, Hugs, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Permanent Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rimming, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tenderness, Tickling, Ticklish Castiel (Supernatural), Top Castiel (Supernatural), Witch Sam Winchester, Witch's Familiar Castiel (Supernatural), Witchcraft, past emotional/psychological abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27451855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Matthew1972/pseuds/Matthew1972
Summary: For years they'd said Castiel was too feral, too in tune with the feline inside of him. It is why they'd cast him out and he was forced to live on the street for two years. He's never not been awkward. Always seeking for a place to belong… until fate and magic brought him to Sam. But can the fallen hunter truly accept him for him? Dare Castiel be true to his familiar nature again? Maybe it is time to trust in his instincts, to believe in love.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Series: Shy Moon Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2005657
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	Shy Moon II: Just The Way You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Title and inspiration borrowed from the Billy Joel song.

  
Under the cloak of dusk Castiel balances his path over a narrow, brick stone garden wall. Thankful for the grace of his feline form, he jumps down the square corner post, landing on the concrete sidewalk. There's not a sound to his presence. He's like a shadow, his dark fur soon to blend in where the light of day fades. Castiel breathes in the humid air around him. Rain waits for the clouds to release their hold on the inevitable, which is why he picks up in his pace to get off the street. No, he doesn't want for his fur to get soaked and his skin to get cold, so he keeps making his way onwards unseen to the one open window in the village… to the one person, who is waiting for him to jump onto his desk or lap, whichever takes his fancy.

Over a month gone by since _that_ blessed morning. Castiel can't help but wonder if he's still dreaming, if Sam isn't a figment of his imagination. Wishful thinking of his abused mind and scarred heart. How can someone precious like Sam love him? Him… a creature deemed too feral by his kind. Oh, they'd tried to bind him to duty, but what good was strengthening his community when he grew wary and even fearful of the ones in charge? When he lost his trust in their reasoning? Was it his fault that his heart was too damned huge? That he drew towards understanding others before judging them for being different? To fall in love with a hunter, be it a retired one, may be his downfall… and yet here he is, on his way back to Sam for far more than a cuddle.

Home. He's never known one in his heart. Oh, he's pretended… tried with all of his might to fit in where his family swore he belonged, into a loveless handfasting. Even though the night feels warm the memory alone is enough to send a shiver down his spine. The cold of Bartholomew versus the warm, soulful love of Sam. Is it any wonder that he can't wait to fall into his lap? Oh, to have those large hands scratching his thick fur until he's ready to shift into human form to join Sam in his bed. Human closeness has never beckoned to his heart like it does now. Neither one of them is flawless. Scars though don't matter. He needs not to hold a perfect human in his arms, because there's no such thing… but Sam? The compassion of him, the absence of judgement and the equal need to find himself in a world that doesn't understand them draws Castiel out. What he wants to do is to protect his witch from anyone out to harm one single hair on his head. Sam deserves so much better than the card he's been dealt by life so far.

Lost in thought, Castiel crosses the street of the quiet village… Foolish cat that he is! He should have paid attention, but here he is, caught in the cross hairs of domestic danger. Bright headlights pierce into his line of vision, blinding him for a second, while the roar of an engine draws way too close… way too fast. His heart leaps into his chest. Adrenaline rushes high as its driver slams on the breaks. The sleek, dark car swerves over to the right in an attempt to avoid him and it misses him by a few hairs. In his shock Castiel hisses at the monster of steel. It though is pointless to curse at the driver, who doesn't hear him… can't over the screeching of his tires. What Castiel can do is scramble away and dash over to the other side of the street, ducking through the gap of Mister Jones' neatly trimmed hedge to get to the safety of his front lawn.

Out of breath Castiel pauses to collect himself. Phew… shaken as he is, everything appears to be still in working order, with all four of his legs accounted for. "Meow", he berates his stupid mind for forgetting the world around him. He needs to be more careful. Even in a village of few, cars are a menace, or rather its drivers are.

He sits in the humid grass to catch his breath and look up at the moon, which shape announces two thirds into the second cycle since he's been outed for what he is. Sam will want to know this if he doesn't at heart already. Castiel has sensed how the powers of his lover are growing even when he himself isn't aware. Another thing he will have to teach Sam. How magic and the creatures born with it can tap into the celestial powers of the moon for more than spells. How it does so much more than rule the tides of the ocean.

Getting back up on all fours, Castiel walks off… across the lawn to make his way through the flower borders and into the next garden. He stalks his path past the side of the next house to turn into the dead-end street where Sam lives on the far edge of the village. The most quiet place off all. A modest house of pale blue walls and dark window ledges. Of the open study window framed by stray sunflowers on the outside, his way inside…

But his target doesn't draw his first attention this evening. On the side of the road, parked before the entry gate of the by some believed too wild garden, stands the black beast which almost ran him over. Castiel makes a beeline to it… stalking it like prey, wary and curious at the same time. Now abandoned the car seems far less of a threat. He jumps on its hood, then reconsiders his move when the gleaming steel burns too hot under his paws. From the ground up the evidence stares him in the face, headlights gone dark, and he can't help but glare back at them. Hissing, Castiel decides that he doesn't like how the car has ended up here with Sam. Does his witch know its owner? How?

Curiosity sends Castiel moving again, despite his nature to run from threats. Sam tells him each day that the house is his home too. That his bed for two is theirs. Assures him of being wanted, blushing as he does, and yet never once in doubt of his conviction. Admits to how he doesn't mind the scattered pile of clothes that Castiel leaves on his side of the bed before he shifts. How it amuses him to have Castiel stalking him in cat form… and how he doesn't mind them cuddling together no matter what shape he's in. Sam though is so unlike his ex-husband that Castiel needs the affirmation still, and he senses that Sam does too.

In his need to know whether Sam is safe or if he needs help, Castiel climbs inside through the gap of the opened window. He sits up on the wide windowsill to listen to the voices up ahead. Sam is speaking with someone in the hallway… as if he's only just invited the stranger past the front door… except there is a familiarity to the conversation.

"… You know me, Sammy. Back against the wall ain't enough to keep me down. I ganked the nest, threw my bags in the car and drove over. Figured you missed me." The stranger sounds half amused, half serious.

"As if." Wheels slip on the floor as Sam turns his chair in a practised move, hiding his emotions behind action like is so normal for him that Castiel doesn't have to see him doing it. He listens in further on the two men while the sound of booted footfalls moves onwards into the kitchen. Castiel jumps down from the ledge then to follow them at a safe distance, stalking them under the shroud of his silent paws and the dimly lit hallway. Where he stops short outside of the kitchen door opening, he peeks around its frame, hidden by the semi dark, to watch the two men.

"So, how about the pie you promised me?" The stranger shrugs off his coat. While he hangs it over the back of the kitchen chair, Sam turns to face him, shaking his head, then smiling when the man sits down to meet him on an even level. Before he can speak though the stranger scrunches up his nose in an attempt to stave off the inevitable, loud sneeze which he can't prevent. "What…", he sniffs, sneezes again, and glares at Sam. "Tell me you didn't."

"I didn't." Sam fakes innocence.

The frown on the stranger's face betrays how quick he is to read Sam between the lines, as if he's done so before. "Hell you did. A cat… why?" Another sneeze explains the source of his dislike of cats.

Not in the least bit upset by it, Castiel allows for his eyes to glow their silvery shine of magic. Soon enough the man will forget about his allergy… because the source is not a cat in the true essence of it. No, his human half will compensate for them, and a little healing magic never hurts anyone.

"He found me." Sam turns back to the counter to slice a piece from his pie. "My house, my life to share. You'll meet him when he is ready to come inside for the night. Eat your pie." He sets the generously filled plate down before his visitor along with a glass of whisky and the opened bottle. In but a few sharp tugs on the rims of his wheelchair Sam slides in underneath the other side of the table.

Castiel can't help but smile to himself over how the stranger opts to go for the pie rather than continue their conversation. In fact, he devours the glorious treat of chocolate, cream, and sugar like Castiel would have done were he given a piece… which he's itching to beg for. Should he?

But he is too shy still. Who is this green-eyed man who sits across from Sam as if he's not the one out of place? A flutter of jealousy creeps up inside of him, but before it can settle Sam leans back to make room for Castiel, tapping the palm of his hand onto his lap too in a by now known gesture of invitation meant solely for him. Dare he? The curling finger which beckons him over makes his choice. A short sprint followed by a leap lands Castiel safe where he belongs, where he curls up against Sam to feel loved by warm palms of comfort which are holding him close.

"What the hell. That's the damned cat which almost ran under my tires just now", the stranger grumbles around a mouth full of pie.

"He did?"

Castiel curls his long tail over his eyes to hide from Sam and his intense look of worry. Is he in trouble? Or is their visitor?

"It ain't talking back, you know. Unless you have a spell for that too?"

"What if I do, Dean?"

Ah, the name makes sense to Castiel like nothing else can. It connects the dots at once; the love for home-baked pie, the smell of gun powder and engine oil… along with the flannels and the so typical tough aura of hunter like quality. This must be Sam's big brother. The one who'd made him a promise on the telephone not so long ago to stop by. Family… the only living relative Sam has left. But the one person too who's barged into their new bubble of happiness. Who has Sam shaking his head then calling his name in a warning of sorts.

"Don't." Dean finishes his pie. The silence in the kitchen falls down thick and somewhat tense. A part of Castiel wants to up and run, give in to instincts he's been trying to shed since living with Sam. While he talks himself into staying put, Dean says, "They say you are dangerous. Meddling with magic like that. Sam… I know." He rests down the fork on his emptied plate and crosses his arms, defensive of his emotions of brotherly worrying.

"Know what?"

Dean searches his coat pocket only to ditch its content in the shape of a small hex bag onto the table. Its unseen power however tells Castiel and his senses a far different story. This is white magic of pure protection. A spell strong and adaptive enough to suit the wearer like armour. Castiel admires the bag in its elegance as much as he can see that Dean fears what it stands for; witchcraft. "This goes way beyond a simple spell. You lied to me", Dean makes his point.

"No, I didn't."

"Ah, of course not. You let me think what I wanted to."

Castiel hisses when he can feel Sam tensing up further. The firmer hold around his flank however keeps him anchored to staying both where and as he is. No, he can't change, not now… it'd be too much for Dean to handle. Too much for Sam to explain all at once. He needs to give the brothers space to learn not to fear magic and to embrace what Sam is born to become.

"I did what Dad and you couldn't. _This…"_ Sam points at the hex bag, "… is all I know how to protect the only family I have left. Is that so wrong? I am not the monster here, Dean. The devil is. I may be a cripple, but I can damned well fight him. Sure, not like you can, but you have to let me find _my_ way."

"But… magic?" Dean visibly winces at the crudeness by which Sam calls himself a cripple. No doubt he too remembers the day when the devil struck at their family. Castiel doesn't know him yet, but he can't help but feel for him as well. How helpless had Dean felt when he had to pick up the pieces of his little brother?

_"White_ magic."

"Oh yeah? And what keeps you from going dark side on me?"

The tension in the legs underneath Castiel falls away to a grin accompanied by a smile of fondness that Sam aims towards his lap, at him. "Not what… who." His long fingers continue to speak for his thoughts, carding through fur unseen. It's their secret connection shared in private until they can come out as lovers to the world, or at least to the man across the table.

Dean leans back in his chair. "Who?" He sounds confused, more than.

"Who", Sam confirms as he pours them another drink. "I have met someone, Dean. They don't judge me for my blood or my broken body. Aren't as afraid of my powers as you and I are… as Dad taught us to be."

"Dad wasn't wrong to be wary."

"Doesn't mean he was right to dismiss it entirely. Magic has protected the two of us so far, hasn't it? I am in less pain for it. This darkness inside of me… why Lucifer wants me… I can't let it end the world. I refuse to watch him do it with my body. I am not going to sit here and wait for him to hit us again, Dean. We are in this together and I'll be damned to let you do it alone."

"I hear ya."

"Good", Sam says, downing the whisky from his glass.

Castiel doesn't quite catch the emotions behind the look which the brothers are sharing. There's a deeper understanding there, a battle of strong wills too and a love cemented in blood, sweat and tears. Two halves of a whole almost. A closeness. Not one of lovers, but a connection equally as important to the universe. These two men are fated by a power far beyond magic. It's not a force he can grasp or name, but it's there louder and more beautiful than he's ever witnessed it.

"Don't mean I have to like it."

"I know." Sam backs away from the table. While Castiel misses the instant absence of his warm hands he too is ready to leave the kitchen, to retreat to where he hopes Sam is aiming for; the bedroom. "Stay the night at least? There's something I want to show you tomorrow."

"Don't you mean some _one_?" Castiel can hear the leer in Dean's voice, the so typical teasing of a sibling he too is familiar with, painfully so.

Sam merely shrugs. "Maybe, _if_ you behave."

"What?! I always do." Dean plasters a look of mock offence on his face, which fast falters to a grin. He raises his refilled glass then. "Night, Bitch."

"Jerk." Sam answers the offer of brotherhood with a wry smile of fondness.

Strange enough their banter has Castiel feeling a bit more inclined to show himself to Dean in the near future. This kind of love he gets, deep down, from his childhood of more innocent times. Memories of his siblings. The ones he left behind… the loss of them which sends an ache of pain through his heart, but it also reminds him to help Sam to not lose his brother over being different. Maybe showing his human side will help Dean to understand that Sam doesn't have to be left behind by himself. That someone stands by his little brother unconditionally, because they are kindred spirits on a plain the hunter may fear and yet he has nothing to be afraid about.

* * *

Morning comes with the sound of raindrops against the glass pane of the open bedroom window and the smell from the soil in his garden gone wet. Sam keeps his eyes closed though, not quite ready to admit to being awake. He feels content to lie on his back, covered both by the sheets and Castiel, who uses his bare chest for a pillow while cuddling him close with almost clingy fingers. Messy hair tickles against his chin for an almost missable flutter. Nothing about Castiel is moving other than his by a flannel shirt covered chest, which rises and falls as he breathes. Sam smiles to himself over how in his human form Castiel all but burrows into him… deep asleep, with one bend leg tucked in between his. Its bare is knee pressed up against his stump, but not unpleasantly so.

Despite himself Sam opens his eyes. The silent temptation to steal an unguarded glance of desire at the half dressed being in his arms, the one he loves more with each damned day, becomes too much for him to ignore. He wants to see all of that beauty offered to him this morning. He takes in the sight of long lashes curled up against pink, sleep warm cheeks. Of those lush, kissable lips, which are slightly parted to let in air. Of the way his light blue flannel shirt has become a second home to Castiel. One that is somewhat too oversized and yet it hugs his shape so well that it never fails to make Sam want to reach out; dive under the sheets, lift up the bottom hem and touch the naked skin of that perfect ass. Maybe of those strong, muscled thighs too.

Yet for all of his sinful thoughts his mind can conjure up Sam falls short at the unexpected sound that comes to life from deep within Castiel. A low rumble on the rise betrays how his love is not all human. That there's another side to him, a no less adorable one in his eyes, because here and now the cat half of Castiel speaks of its contentment. The purring sound is not unfamiliar to Sam at all, but he's never heard him make it while in this shape. And hell if he doesn't feel taken… even awed by it. Does Castiel trust him this much? To not be afraid to shift but not quite?

Sam isn't entirely sure of what is happening, but he can't help but wrap an arm around the familiar in his arms. Acceptance goes both ways. He gets that today more so than he dared to consider a month and change ago when they'd made love for the first time. On this morning he knows why he can't turn back from what he's becoming. Someone other than Dean depends on him… loves him… him, a by demon blood tainted human being. A fallen hunter marked by the devil himself. He is no longer alone, because of Castiel, who fills his home with life and the quiet, cheeky presence of a cat.

"Don't you know it's rude to stare?" Castiel mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Blushing over being caught, Sam meets the sleepy gaze aimed at him. "I wasn't… I woke up and you were… and I couldn't resist…" The sight of long, white whiskers stops him short in his stammered admission of feeling so much want.

"What?"

Unable to deny himself a touch, Sam reaches out to brush his index finger along a single whisker hair. "You were purring too."

"I was?" Castiel scrunches up his nose, confused by how Sam tickles him while in human form. His eyes flicker silver to chase the whiskers away with one single thought. "That's… new… I've never… I am sorry." He sits up before Sam can stop him, clearly shaken and upset. It's almost as if he's afraid of his reaction. As if he's waiting for Sam to throw him out in disgust.

On the instinct to protect him Sam follows his lead, reaching out at once to stop Castiel with a firm hold around his nearest shoulder. "Don't be. I know what you are, remember? And I am not afraid or upset… far from it. Hell, if anything…" His heart breaks when wet eyes flash back at him. There lies a shimmer of hope inside, but the irises are also clouded by too much fear of rejection, and in that instant he gets why Castiel feels so shaken. One relationship gone sour. A soul as gentle as the creature before him cast aside for being no more than himself. Biting down his anger for the ex he's never met, Sam entwines their fingers as he limp crawls over to slide in behind Castiel to shield his still trembling body. "Whiskers or not. Cat or human, and everything in between. I… I am falling so damned hard for you. Do you really think I could send you away? Cas, you're stuck with me for as long as you can put up with incomplete me."

"Sam, don't sell yourself short…"

Castiel twists in his hold and Sam allows him to turn around. Lips find his, and Sam answers the kiss in kind, glad for that he doesn't have to deal with the given compliments. Maybe Castiel is learning to read him better than he's been aware of. Or maybe he too has no words for what it means to be loved and accepted so completely by another being. Touch can say so much more than they can… and so Sam sneaks his way underneath the flannel shirt… brushing his palms up over the warm flesh of his sides.

"Sam…" Castiel breathes out a startled gasp against his lips, squirming as Sam ghosts his touch back downwards, teasing… until the rewarding giggle… and another. Light in eyes re-opened flash their wild emotions of surprise, mirth, and annoyance alike. "What… I didn't know… oh… that's not fair…"

The sound of his deep rumbled giggles is too irresistible for Sam. He can't not touch… seeks out to draw more out of the squirming body next to his, which tries to get away. His arms though have a far wider reach than Castiel can compensate for without falling off their bed. His fingers too are faster to dig into sensitive places that have his familiar grumble, gasp, and squirm amidst his giggled complaints.

"Please… I can't… meow."

Sam blinks at how the helpless laughter changes into a whimpered cat sound. Struck by the sight of whiskers coming back to life as well he breaks off his tickle attack. No, his love isn't all human… and it doesn't change anything, except maybe make him even more of a temptation to wake up next to. Deliberate in moving away his hands from abused sides, Sam reaches out to catch the curling and ridiculously long tail of pure softness. A more than pliant Castiel soon collapses into his hug.

In his need to express himself further, Sam rains kisses up his jawline until he reaches his left ear lobe. "Like I said… you're a keeper." He teases the skin behind the ear with chaste kisses and soft nibbles. Amused by how Castiel rubs his cheek against his in answer he grins. "You silly cat… so ticklish… so responsive… how can I not want you?"

Whiskers brush over his cheek when Castiel tilts his head in response. Inquisitive eyes of love seem to look into his soul, but Sam doesn't hide from it. Sure, he's scared to open himself up to another person as well, but what he can't do is let go of this thing between them and break his own damaged heart in the process. The past can't keep him hostage forever, can it? But in his nervousness for what Castiel seems to be looking for he clings to his tail all the same. Desperate for contact. Afraid to lose the one good soul which has fallen into his lap, in every sense of its meaning. Was he wrong to tease Castiel to the point where he could no longer stay in one true form? Wrong to be selfish in wanting to show him how deep his attraction runs?

Sam startles at how warm fingers wrap around his too clingy hold. Rather than calling him out, Castiel shakes his head. One finger at the time he pries Sam's from his tail. A mischievous smile graces his handsome face by the time he's set himself free. His eyes shine silver for a flash before he sends the last of his cat shape into nothingness. "Caught by a hunter… and yet which one of us is the prey here?"

"You are." Sam answers the gone cheeky mood with a chaste bite onto his unshaven jaw line. So what if he can't get enough of teasing his lover?

The moaned giggle is enough of an encouragement for Sam… but this time his familiar slips away from his grabbing hands before he can get caught into another hold intended to never let him go. From the side of their shared bed, dressed still in nothing but his flannels, Castiel crosses his arms. His stern composure though breaks when he wriggles his nose to return his whiskers in a playful and oh-so-teasing manner of seduction. "One morning you will learn, Samuel, that you can't always have it your way. Us cats do so love it to toy with their prey…" With a wink and a blur of feline grace he leaves Sam behind to stare at the closed bathroom door.

Smiling to himself, Sam tugs his wheelchair over to the bed, ready to face the day and brew a pot of coffee while Castiel claims first dibs on the shower. Had he been given a warning? Or was the playful comment meant as a promise? Sam can't help but want to find out. Being at the mercy of Castiel doesn't sound so bad to him, because in truth he knows he's caught by him.

* * *

Done with his shower, Castiel returns to the bedroom, shameless of his nudity. For a moment he ponders shifting, but the distant sounds of Sam wheeling around in the kitchen lures him to stay in human form. His stomach growls. Maybe he should grab a breakfast snack first? Making his choice on a whim of emotions, he decides to dress for a change. Castiel seeks out the wardrobe closet to find the softest flannels Sam has to offer. The hunter won't mind him borrowing another, will he? His fingers trail over one shirt after the other. How to choose when each one after the next smells like Sam? Black, grey, or green? Red maybe? No, perhaps he ought to ask first. He's still indecisive when his superior cat hearing picks up on the unexpected conversation in the kitchen.

"Sammy, you sneaky bastard… did you let him creep inside through your bedroom window or something?"

Castiel winces while he can feel Sam doing the same. Dean! How had they both forgotten about him? Had the elder Winchester overheard their morning shenanigans? He blushes over how loud his giggles may have been. Hell, their teasing game had surprised him as well, because no one else has ever tickled him before. Intimacy has never been like this to him, never so joyous and playful, or so full of acceptance…

"Or something." Judging by the sounds Castiel picks up, Sam keeps pottering about as he fends off the claim, grabbing bowls from the cupboard and a milk bottle from the fridge. Wheels roll over the floorboards as he sets the table undeterred by the presence of his big brother.

"That ain't an answer. I was right there on the couch and he sneaked past? I don't think so. I have ears, you know."

"Sure, because it's not like the whisky didn't render you dead to the world."

"And _still_ I woke to the sound of you two doing the dirty… what the hell? That's too much information, Little Brother. It's too damned early anyhow. Why are you even up?" Dean pauses, as if looking around for a sign of life. "Is he?"

"Oh, I say so." Sam adds oil onto the fire.

From the bedroom Castiel too grins at the audible groan he catches from Dean. Oh, the teasing tone of Sam alone is perfect! It's so good to know as well that none of it is a lie. The happy memory of how their day started out is why he blindly reaches for a grey and pink shirt, followed by a pair of black jeans, because he feels the need to rescue Sam from the verbal clutches of his big brother. One of the few appearance spells he's been allowed to learn in the life before is enough to fit the extra-large clothes to his smaller size than that of their original owner. Opting to go commando underneath, Castiel tugs on the jeans and shirt over his clean skin. It's been a while since he last was fully clothed, and it feels odd to him. Still, for Sam he pushes on… out of the bedroom and over towards the kitchen.

"Morning." Castiel greets both men after he enters, bending down to kiss Sam full on the lips as if they have no onlooker. To his joy a large hand wraps around his neck to keep him where he is for the time it takes a teasing tongue to steal his breath away…

Predictably, Dean huffs. "Get your own room… not that it makes much of a difference. Geez."

Castiel can feel Sam grinning against his lips, his breath warm in his mouth. The small sound of joy barely reaches above that of his now faster beating heart. Oh, if only it were the two of them by themselves… but since that isn't the case, he breaks from their second morning greeting with a wry smile and a shrug, the latter meant for Dean. He wants to answer him. Stand up for Sam. The fierce look of scrutiny aimed back at him however is too much to bear, familiar in a way it has no right to be on another man's face. What if Dean doesn't accept him? After all, every time that he opens his mouth, he messes things up…

So, rather than deal with what is threatening to overwhelm him, Castiel turns away from it to grab the glass of milk intended for him from the counter and to steal some biscuits from the tin stood in the far end corner of it. Comfort. Food is what he knows. What the feline in him all but claws for out of the fear that it will soon be gone, forcing him to walk on alone, hungry. Two years of living on the streets have left him behind as even more of an awkward being. His animal instincts have grown stronger than his once so well sculpted human manners, because moving on as a cat was the only thing he could do when he dare not trust anyone and he had no dime left to care for his basic needs.

"Hey." Only the hand coming to a gentle rest on the small of his back reminds him of the presence of others. Of how his behaviour born out of those dark years is uncalled for in this house. Sheepishly, he faces the look of fondness Sam is aiming up at him. "Why don't you join Dean and I at the table and do a proper breakfast? Unless you have to go out?"

"I… no… maybe. I think so?" His hand trembles around the glass gone empty. Castiel wants to say so much more. Tell Sam what this morning had meant to him so far even when he can't stay put. Why his stupid restless instinct to run is rearing its ugly head in front of Dean. How he's so unworthy of what is on offer here. Family. But also how hopelessly in love he is with the beyond handsome man before him. "Sam, I'm sorry. I fear I can't stay", he settles on what little he can say in front of Dean.

"Too soon?" Upon his nod Sam pries the glass from his hands. "Go on then. I am proud of how you've tried. Cas, I won't be alone today, and you know where I am… yeah?"

It's almost too much to be met with such understanding… with that gaze full of concern and love from those eyes he can lose himself in every damned time when they open for him alone. Castiel leans down then to steal a parting kiss from pliant lips. Not breaking their moment yet he nods. "Your brother…"

_"And_ my cat. He's bound to spend the afternoon in my lap. Purring like a good kitten."

Stunned by how Sam manages to flirt with him without anyone else but him privy to it, Castiel can't help but send him a watery smile. "I am sure he will do so as well", he promises.

_"Go",_ Sam mouths… and nothing more needs to be said, for now. He's been given space, but also the knowledge that his witch isn't angry about his irrational behaviour. That while he is set free there is a safe home waiting for him, a heart, which has fully opened to him. The thought of which isn't so scary to Castiel anymore. Maybe he ought to listen to that voice of magic. The one that says he's found his mate… and draw from it to find the courage to believe in it.

Even in human form Castiel knows how to slip away with the silent elegance and speed of a cat. His instincts lead him out of the front door, where he pauses, not yet ready to shut himself out entirely. Should he? Sorrow over his most recent failure washes over him. Why can he never not be awkward? From where he freezes in sadness, he can hear Dean express a worried, "What the…" A chair scrapes over the floorboards… and his heart leaps up in fear…

… but Sam stops them both short. "Don't you dare. Sit."

"The hell I will. He didn't even…", Dean protests.

"For me? Hear me out?" Sam pauses for a few long seconds. Shaking where he stands, Castiel holds his breath, not sure whether he should close the front door behind him and shift or if he should listen in. Before he can decide, Sam explains, "Remember how it was for me after… when you wheeled me out of hospital? I was a hunter but not. Human but incomplete. Lost but alive. I've had to put myself together best I knew how to."

"I helped."

Sam sighs at the protest of his big brother. "Sure. I wasn't alone. But Castiel… he has no one left. What we see is all he has. Everything and everyone else he lost."

"So what? You trusted him upon his blue eyes and took in his sorry ass, because?"

"Shut up. You know me better, Dean. It's so much more than that. I am not sure what we are yet, but I do know that when he's here with me I feel whole in a way I haven't been for a long time. Like we're meant. Past be damned."

"At least let me do a background check."

"No need", Sam insists. "I can look after myself."

"Not saying you can't."

"Good. So… tell me about your case… the one you need my help with." Their voices move into the hallway.

Having heard enough to calm himself down, Castiel silently closes the door behind him and he makes his way down the path into the enclosed back garden. The Winchesters working a case together is how the world moves on. Maybe he needs to do the same? He takes a deep breath and undresses, hiding his clothes in the tool chest left out on the back porch. With one flash of his magic he shifts into the one shape he's most comfortable with. He casts a longing glance over at the pine trees and the distant hills beyond the lake. Tempting, but no. He’s not leaving Sam behind to worry about if he will return to him. Even when Castiel can't face other people in his human form yet, it doesn't mean he has no other means by which to show Sam how much he feels the same desire to be together. All he has to do is crawl back inside. Find that open window and curl up on the comfy corner chair in the study. His to go place of silent support…

* * *

Sam wheels into his study. A soreness is creeping up in his lower back, but he ignores it. Rainy days don't do his body any favours. The cold of autumn is unwelcome to his bones and muscles too. Maybe soon he will have to light the hearth. He should ask his neighbour from across the road to come by and drop off a load of wood logs. Castiel can help him build up the fire. It may even be romantic, cosying up on the sofa together, that is… after Dean is gone back to his case and hunting beyond it.

The four-legged version of the being on his mind looks up from where he lies curled up on the chair in the corner. So Castiel didn't run into the forest after all. Sam feels only relief at the sight of the adorable pile of fluffy fur and the tail which hangs over the edge of the seat. Blue eyes flash half open at the sound of his arrival. Whiskers twitch as Castiel sends him a soft meow as if to greet him, as if to say that he's happy to be here. As upset and concerned as Sam still feels over how full of fear his lover is, he can sense that they've reached a level of acceptance between them. Castiel is not scared of him. That much is clear from his almost instant return. He's just not ready to meet other people… to be exposed to their judgement of what he is. It breaks Sam's heart how badly Castiel must have been treated before. Was his ex that much of an abuser? Because to him this is what Bartholomew is; the kind of man who took someone precious and kept them held on a by far too short leash.

Deciding to give Castiel time to come back to him for cuddles rather than the other way around, Sam makes his way over to his desk to settle in there. The two of them can talk later. During those long winter months when the days will draw short and when Castiel too may prefer the indoors over the cold, frozen alternative of snow packed streets. Perhaps they can share a mug of hot chocolate. Do what lovers do. Enjoy being alive and that alone can be enough, has to be. Maybe the past needs not to be dragged up to painful detail anyway. No, he doesn't have to know what was… only what they can share in the now.

Sam breaks himself from his musings when Dean drops his duffel bag on the floor and he falls into the chair he pulls over to the desk, sitting across from Sam. As if there'd never been a pause in his case story his brother continues where he left off. "… so, I dug up his grave, burned his bones to be sure… and nothing. Turns out old Jeremiah Jones wasn't angry enough to go Casper on the town. Next day it was the same damned thing all over again. Strange sightings of a moving shadow. Man or a winged creature, no witness can make up their minds. Some have claimed to have felt the brush of wind and feathers, but there ain't any claw or teeth marks left behind on the bodies. No knife wounds either. The whole situation is bizarre, even for us."

"Then how are they killed?" Sam asks, while reaching for the file which Dean pushes over towards him.

"Bloody. Their hearts are literally frozen in utter fear, left to melt in their chests." Dean warns before setting free the file from his hold. "Eyes full of horror that stare out in the world in memory of whatever it is that killed them. The coroner suggested, and I got to agree with him, that maybe what kills them stares them down until their brains turn to mush, seeping out of their ears, nose, and mouth. Yet not one thing can be pointed out as the cause of death. Whatever it is, it hits them all at once."

Sam opens the file. He grimaces at the photograph of the first victim. At once he gets why this case has Dean rattled. The wide blown eyes alone can't be unseen. So much terror! As such he is more than glad for the reprieve Dean offers to him with a grin…

"Oh, and here is where it gets good. The local priest reckons it strikes seven times, over seven weeks, to sleep for seven years… and restart the cycle. Something about a vengeful angel recorded in the old church journals, but the victims were hardly sinners. Anyway, my Latin sucks, but yours…" Dean rubs the back of his neck, a sign that he's exhausted what he knows and he's upset by not having the answer. So much indeed for a milk run…

Before he can ask about it, Dean puts an old book on top of the open file. Sam need not have been with his brother to know how he waved his fake FBI badge and he put on a bit of charm to talk the priest into giving it up to him. Eagerly he opens the journal onto the first written page, his eyes drawing towards the handwritten text of black ink on parchment, and how the first large letter is a colourful painting by itself. "How far back do these records go?" He asks, absent-mindedly, searching for his answer even as he does.

"The early eighteenth century", Dean grimaces. "Oh, joy… pages upon pages of research. Hallelujah, praise the Lord."

Sam can only laugh at his brother's so typical grumbled mocking. "Careful. You may provoke The Holy Ghost."

"Ain't nothing holy about the feral thing that killed these people." Dean reaches for his laptop. "You take the journal. I'll see what I can come up with in the last decade."

Silence falls comfortably between them. It's been a while since they've done this, but Sam's inquisitive brain is in his element at once. Research too is part of being a hunter. Exploring the past, reading up on accounts from a time even older than the book. Handed down memories of a shadowed creature of damnation. One deemed to be brought to life by the devil. Sam though doesn't buy it, because he knows deep down in his gut what Lucifer seeks; validation for his suffering from the one who may never give it. God… the same deity the writers of the journal have devoted their lives to. Faith, blind trust in the laws of the church. No… this is not what believing in God should be about. This? This is what led to the witch trials.

None the wiser so far Sam adjusts the pillow in his back. His body aches, but he doesn't let on. Refuses to stand down from seeking answers for Dean so that he can save the town of innocents. What they need are facts and so Sam pulls some history books from his shelves to read. They confirm the priests' findings with records of locals lost, killed, and left in a grave by their family. Names of fallen fathers crossed out on the census. Newspaper reports of farm animals throwing themselves against the fence over an unseen force, a fit of panic shared by an entire herd. Everything happening in a ten miles radius around the town. Damned souls? No, because while the killings are almost demonic in nature, nothing points at the random behaviour of foulness their kind uses. What is up with the ongoing near biblical cycle of seven years? He must be missing something here.

Many hours have passed when Sam reaches for his plate, half aware of the hand that offers it to him. The smell of food however is enough to alert him back to reality. He blinks at the orange sunlight that now streams into the study, a sure signal he's forgotten the time. A painful spasm in his injured hip too tells Sam that he's been seated in the same position for far too long. On automatic he sets his full plate on the table, shifting in his wheelchair as he does. His relief at the ease in his hip is short-lived, because his leg next remembers how it's no longer whole. Rather than acknowledge the phantom pains and give in to his rising disappointment over his failing body, Sam looks up at the source of the shadow which falls over his desk; Dean.

Said brother smiles down at him, pointing at the vegan burger on his plate. "With extra veggies for my little brother", he says with a roll of his eyes gone dark with poorly hidden concern. On any other day he would point out his disgust over Sam not eating meat, but instead he points out, "If I weren't here you'd starve… or do you expect for the cat to cook? Go on, eat."

As Dean walks around the desk, another filled plate in hand, and he sits down to eat his greasy cheeseburger, Sam too digs into his food. Now that he's aware of his surroundings he too can hear and feel his growling stomach. How he's feeling more drained than he used to be before his encounter with the devil. The one he's sure has nothing and yet everything to do with the case. His findings stir in his brain… connecting the dots into a reason for the upset in this town… and coming up short in several places at once. Not even the pleasure of having home cooked food in his stomach can change it.

"Good huh?" Dean speaks around his burger.

Blinking at his plate gone empty before his brother has even finished his, Sam agrees with a sheepish grin. "Suppose I was hungry."

"So, did you find anything?"

"Yes and no. What we have is centuries of undeniably similar encounters and killings collected, so I'd say there is a pattern for sure. I can't see though what it has to do with God or religion other than the cycle being the same as the seven days of creation as the bible claims. Whatever this being is they seem to be trapped to the area. Worse, I don't think that they dwell on the same plain as us." Sam pulls the journal over to find the passage he wants to recite.

"Get this… the creature cornered Father Francis Booker in the church yard in the year 1827", he explains before he translates the old Latin journal entry for Dean. "Thus, he held up the Cross of our Lord, our saviour. The sky broke to spit out evil. Anger rained down as the shadow of the wretched beast of feathers attacked the town. An angel but not one of mercy. The black of night broken by the searing fire that destroyed His home. Which threatened to kill His servants. Francis though would not be swayed. He begged for the darkness to take him, but not the innocent. The moonlight had struck upon his gun, but the bullet went through the vengeful one and the air alike. Lightning struck the village blind… and they woke to the dawn without a church and its priest."

"A priest with a gun. Well… I'll be damned. We've got ourselves a hunter."

Nodding, Sam agrees, but when he sets out to turn the page to recite more, a body of fur jumps into his line of sight. Sure enough, Castiel takes hostage over the journal, effectively cutting him short. Two front paws stretch out over the page as if to further his point. Cat eyes of unwavering blues pierce up at him, complimented with a loud voiced protest of, "Meow."

"What the…" Dean breaks off his protest with a wry grin. "Hey, don't look at me, it's your stupid cat."

Without pause Castiel plops down where he has intervened. He rolls around to expose his belly to Sam in a shameless beg for attention and a cuddle. He is clearly done observing Dean and him from the chair in the corner. "Meow", he pleads. His left front paw reaches up to tap Sam against his chest.

Sam crosses his arms, mock stern, as he attempts to stare him down. "You silly cat. You are making a mess of this book."

"Meow." Castiel shrugs off his complaint by rubbing the back of his head over the page of the book, shedding a few hairs.

Oh, to hell with it. Sam knows then that he's won over. Scooping his familiar up in his arms, he rescues the centuries old journal from playful paws. He hugs Castiel to his chest before he unceremoniously drops him into his lap. "You are a menace, and you know it…"

"To be fair, it has a point. You need an early night, Sammy. The cat and I insist."

"Two against one. That's not fair."

"No, it's not." Before Sam can reach for the push rims of his wheelchair Dean has rounded the desk to come up behind him. "Allow me? Free ride, brother… take it, you've earned it."

"But we don't have all the answers yet."

"We will get there…" Dean pulls him, wheelchair and all, away from the desk. With one smooth turn Sam gets steered into the hallway and onwards to his bedroom door. "… Tomorrow, _when_ you are rested."

Sam pushes open his door, turning in his seat and tilting up his head to face his brother after he does. He sends Dean a nod of gratitude. As much as he hates to admit that he's in pain the two men in his life see right through his silent suffering. These days, often, his damaged body is exhausted long before his mind is. Nothing he can do about it. He's too tired to even be angry about his losses this evening. Sam needs the sleep to heal and do better tomorrow. Yes, that's what he'll do… an early start… and so he wheels onwards, closing the door behind him with resolve. Glad for when Castiel shifts to stand by him, give him his daily dose of healing potion and tuck him in under the sheets, right into loving arms of protection from his nightmares.

* * *

Something about the case the brothers were working on during the day has Castiel feeling unsettled still, as if he should know the answer. The feline in him wants to sleep the night away and yet his human brain tries to connect what Sam and Dean so far have not been able to put together. He feels like it is within his grasp to identify the vengeful creature… or is it a wronged soul? A human being torn apart a long time ago, before the Civil War, during a time when superstitions and fear ran high, when magic had to bow to the church or suffer the consequences…

Castiel sits up, wide awake when the last piece of the puzzle in his mind falls into place. This is no mere fallen soul! What haunts this town full of forsaken history is a Dwelling Spirit… as his late father called such grief struck beings. One mate ripped from his other half. A magical heart torn apart and left to bleed out over the land, because they too were tossed aside, forgotten by time. Victims by proxy of the witch hunts. Souls who'd witnessed their life partners getting burned at the stake or being drowned in the nearest lake. His father had always warned him that it was the downfall of their kind. Magic bound them too tight once love struck, and when such a deep bond got broken so violently?

"Hey, did you have a nightmare?" At his side Sam too sits up, placing a hand on his shoulder in an offer of comfort and concern.

"No", Castiel hurries to ease his mind. "I think… Sam, I have found your answer."

"Our case?"

He nods. "Your creature is a Dwelling Spirit. A scar left in the magical world, because of the witch trials. Whoever they were they are long gone, but the torn-up emotions of them remained behind, haunting the people and the land of Valle Crucis town. Sam, its name alone explains why; Valley of the Cross."

"Meaning what?"

"I believe that the church stands on sacred pagan ground. A hub where ley lines cross, supplying this valley in North Carolina with powerful flows of energy. They are what have fed this Dwelling Spirit for such a long time…" Castiel pushes back the sheets, leaving Sam's side and tucking the sheets back around his love's warm body, to scramble out of their bed. "Your books will confirm it… I will be right back."

"Ley lines? I can come with…"

"No need, I can bring my findings here. You should rest." From the side of the bed he leans down to kiss Sam on the cheek, promising his imminent return before he dashes out of the bedroom on silent, bare feet and dressed only in the shirt he sleeps in.

Once in the study Castiel switches on the desk lamp at a low setting. He finds the wanted book on one of the shelves. Always able to read fast, because books were and still are his refuge, he wastes little time on confirming his answer. Indeed, the ley lines are the key. Now he gets why the name of the town has held his brain hostage, because it links to the world of magic… his people, who haven't forgotten. His late father too had spoken of Valle Crucis when he warned him to be wary of those without the gift to connect with the Old Ways. What was it he'd said? Castiel slowly remembers him telling about a druid tribe and how they got wiped out. Druids, which explains why the creature born from grief remains so powerful to date. This isn't a wronged witch or familiar but one of the most powerful beings to have ever lived. Their elder perhaps. An angered soul wrapped in a cloak of dark magic, tethered to the town by the church and its priests at the time, because they damned him… _and_ themselves.

"You _are_ a quiet one", Dean grumbles from the door opening. He waits to walk further into the room, as if afraid to send Castiel running again, eyeing him up like a shadow, but one dressed in sleeping pants and a faded t-shirt. "When did you get in?"

Castiel tilts his head to judge the question. No, it's not an accusation as such, only the raw interest of a hunter and his senses picking up on that the man before him may not be all human. After today though Castiel doesn't feel as threatened by his presence anymore. This is Sam's big brother… the one he's witnessed to look out for him when he can. "I am sorry…", he settles on what he can say without losing the fragile offer of trust on the spot. "About before. I have spent too much time by myself and I forgot my manners. Can we do this again?"

With a smile Dean takes a few slow strides into the room. Holding out his hand in greeting, he nods. "Dean Winchester."

"Castiel Novak."

The handshake is a short one, but the green eyes don't release him yet. "Another book nerd?"

Rather than take offence from the joke Castiel smiles at Dean. "I am. That's part of why Sam and I seem to fit so well."

"Dude… way too much information again."

After his day spent observing both Winchesters it's easier now to understand the humour of Dean. How it's more than a front, because it too is his way of coping with the on the road life he leads. What keeps Sam and him from falling into sorrow over everything they have lost. Because Castiel doesn't quite grasp how to deal with it, he pushes the book he's found over towards Dean. "Your monster… Sam and you were both right. He isn't all here, but he isn't a ghost as you know them."

"What then is he?"

"A Dwelling Spirit. All of us, every human, we are made of energy. We die and our energy sinks back into the earth. Our souls are taken to heaven or hell, that is if you believe in such places."

"They are real. I have been there."

Castiel takes the wry smile for the admission it is. Winchesters… rumoured to having died and risen again, returned to Earth by forces unknown. What of it is truth? He's not sure which ones of these stories he wants confirmed or not, and so he pushes on. "Imagine the soul of a druid. A being of powerful magic, wronged, unable to let go of his grief. The dust of what he was sinks down with the rainwater, deep into the ground, where it connects with the ley lines. Imagine them as veins of primal energy. Most humans don't sense them, but the ones with magic do. These lines cross underneath the church in a powerful knot of energy from where the once druid rises again. Not on every day, but fuelled by the rise and fall of the same moon he has paid tribute to while alive."

"Hell", Dean rubs the back of his neck. "If what you're saying is true, how do we end it?"

"The pagan way."

"Magic?"

Turning away from the hunter, Castiel searches the shelves. He must reach up though to grab the last book he needs. As he does his flannel shirt hitches up as well, but the momentary exposure of his bare right ass cheek is not something that registers on his awareness. Instead he sets the book down on the desk to search for what he knows to be a remedy for scarred ley lines. "One quarter rise of the moon takes seven days. When it finishes its second cycle the spirit finds its peace and it rests for seven years, but only after it gives the Earth seven sacrifices to appease the Moon. You said there were three victims so far?"

"Yeah."

"Almost full moon, which is the perfect time to appease the Old World." When eyes frown at him Castiel can't help but grin back at the man by his side. "You hunters. So set in your ways. Sam has a tattoo of an anti demon possession sigil on the skin of his chest. I bet you do too?"

"What of it?"

"These too are fuelled by magic, Dean. Do you know what feeds your and his fear alike? The not knowing. Being a person who believes in the Old Ways is nothing to be scared off. Yes, your brother is a white witch, but that changes nothing about the good soul you and I know him to be. What drives him to keep standing by your side, both with the hunting of monsters and helping the innocents, hasn't changed. Only his means of helping you save them were always bound to."

"Innocents. You mean like yourself?"

"Never said I was", Castiel shrugs. "Each one of us in this house has their scars. It's what we do with what we have learned from the story behind them that is important. Our stuck in anger druid? He was a victim of the church… but his grief gives him no reason to hurt others. We can't kill what is dead, but what we can do is heal this ancient wound. Paint the foundations of the church with the sigil from this page and you'll see the cycle ending. But Dean? You must trust in it. Tell the current Father to teach his flock about love, not hate. The community itself too must let go of their hold over the darkness their families invited long ago. Allow it time…"

"Like Sam asked of me to give to you two?"

Castiel offers Dean a wry smile. "Trust me. Of all the wrongs I have done and may yet do, hurting your brother isn't one of them. I will watch over him when you can not. Make sure he doesn't push himself too hard like you Winchesters do."

"You are in love with him."

"I am."

"Then I will hold you to your word. Do him wrong and I will hunt you down." It's not a threat, but a promise. One that Castiel can only agree to with a nod. He's seen how close the Winchesters are and how protective Dean is about his little brother… can only respect that… and mourn for how his own siblings had let him down in the end. Even so he can't say that he's not upset for how Dean holds on to his distrust of magic, as his next question shows. "For my brother I will give you the benefit of doubt. Not gonna lie, this gift of his scares the crap out of me, but I am not blind either. He's hurting less because of his stupid potions. But witchcraft? That's one hell of a dangerous path to take. Yet here you are in his home, not afraid. Why not?"

"Because fear leads to ignorance, hatred and suffering." Castiel gestures at the book and the sigil in it. "History proves it time and again, wouldn't you say?"

The inquisitive gaze upon him softens with understanding of what he means to say. Dean and he won't speak of their scars or suffering. It's too hard for one. More so, they don't know the other yet. Tonight is too soon, but all the same they can move on from here, because they both will do right by Sam. And who knows? Maybe they can become friends, even for that alone. With his decision clearly made, Dean finds a piece of paper to use as a bookmark before he snaps the book closed and he tucks it underneath his arm pit. "I'd better hold on to this. Got a case to solve and all that." He turns, but as he sets to leave Dean too grins on a stray thought, pausing to face Castiel one last time. "Next time when I visit… wear pants?"

Blushing over how his awkward nature has tripped him up again, Castiel pulls on the hem of his flannels to straighten it. His modesty appears to be intact at present and yet he suspects that at some point this was not the case. Why else would Dean have said anything? While he isn't shy about his naked form, he too knows that full-blood humans are wired less carefree on such regard. In fact, he knows Sam to be far more modest. No, he must behave better. "I will", he promises.

"Thanks. 'Night, Cas." Dean turns away, brisk in his manners once more. A few more hours of sleep are all the hunter in him needs before he will head back to his case and end the cycle of the Dwelling Spirit.

"Goodnight, Dean."

Not offended by the typical Winchester trait to hide emotions, Castiel switches off the desk light, eager to retreat to Sam and to tell him about his findings. To explain that he's found Dean a way to end the killings. He'll tell him as well that his older brother is a complicated person and yet someone he's already charmed by somehow. Dean may far from understand him, but so far he accepts him because Sam has asked him to. Isn't that what siblings are supposed to do? If only Castiel had fared better on that regard. Family… the one he had he would not have chosen. This, here with the Winchesters, is what makes an odd sort of sense to him. Broken as they all are, they fit together somehow. Finding the freedom to choose his path in life is why he fled. How he's made it here no longer matters. Castiel is simply happy to curl up in bed with his witch, to rest his head on Sam's broad chest and to fall back asleep together.

\- 0 - 0 - 0 -

Sam wakes up to the distant sound of the front door falling closed followed by the Impala engine roaring to life outside. Dean! He puts the dots together while the car drives away. Of course, his brother is eager to get back to his case now that his mystery solved by Castiel, the familiar who uses him for a pillow. Mornings… they have become a new ritual ever since they first woke up entwined like this. No matter what his love says, Sam has come to see that he's a night owl rather than a morning person. It's as adorable to him now as it was on the first morning together how much of the cuddling type Castiel is. How easily his smaller body fits against his larger one, as if he belongs there and he has always done. His presence alone is enough for Sam not to feel the ache of Dean leaving in silence so acutely. No, he's not alone, not anymore…

Slowly Sam sneaks his hand underneath the flannel shirt to seek for skin on skin contact. He stretches out his palm on the small of his back, happy to close his eyes again and wait for Castiel to wake. Once he would have gone for a morning jog, but that was years back, before he lost most of his leg. Now he has to pinch himself to believe that he may be able to keep this. To have this man by his side. Stubborn in caring for his broken body, caring about him when he's not sure if he deserves it. Someone who understands his shadows and who doesn't seem to fear them as much as Sam himself does.

"Morning." Lips press a soft kiss onto his left breast… teasing a trail towards his nipple to blow onto it softly, teasingly. The sleepiness of his voice is belied by wide blue irises full of mischief. What Castiel doesn't say his lips and tongue speak against the skin of Sam's chest, throat, and jawline. Warm, fleeting touches of love powerful enough to chase every sombre thought away. At last those lush lips claim his with a firm, breath-taking kiss of tongue and wetness.

By the time Castiel lets him up for air, Sam is panting with want. "My silly cat… Cas… I…" But speaking of love is not even needed.

"Me too", Castiel curls up even more closely to Sam, not that it seems even possible. "Waking up here. Like this… I've never had this, but I think… no, I know… I want for every next morning to be like this."

"So do I."

Sam curls his fingers around the nape of his neck to pull Castiel in for another kiss. There is no edge or hurry yet to their rising arousal. Holding each other close, kissing and teasing, for long minutes is enough… at first. One by one the few sleep clothes they wore through the night are discarded onto the floor next to the bed. Sam feels no shyness anymore under the heated gaze of Castiel. He looks up at him with the same awed emotions of love and want. His love is handsome, imperfections included. There's something almost predatory to his nature as he explores Sam with reverent touches. Head to chest, down his arms and abdomen, nothing goes untouched. It's as if Castiel maps his body out to grasp for the same thing Sam does. Is this even real?

Nothing about his growing arousal however feels like a dream to Sam. Each touch both grounds him and throws him off kilter. Sam answers them in kind by wrapping his hands around strong hips… or at least he tries to, but Castiel moves like the feline he is. Elegant in his wriggle to get away. A damned tease as he leans down to kiss a trail from his belly button down… and further down… but past where Sam wants those lush lips the most. Instead they move on to his left thigh.

Gasping both in lust and shock, Sam stares at Castiel. How come that his lover doesn't care about his scars? He's stunned by how the warm lips seem to almost heal his cut off leg and the skin they caress there. "Cas…", he curls his hand and fingers into the mess of near black hair. It's almost too much. Sam isn't sure if he can bear the touch or not. Though his intent was to pull Castiel up and away he finds that he no longer wants to.

"Sam…" All the same Castiel pauses. With his thumb he reaches out to a shadow on Sam's leg. "Has this always been here? I don't think… it's…" His stuttered stammer and shaky retreat of his hand begs for Sam to look as well.

Brown specks of skin mark his thigh in an almost pattern. Is that… it almost looks like a paw print. A large one, like he's seen left behind in the soil of his garden. Made by the scruffy cat he lives with. Can it be? "What the… how?" His confused mind looks on still when Castiel reaches out hesitantly to the tainted skin print which has no right to look so familiar to them both.

The mark darkens, becoming more alive somehow under the fingertips of Castiel. Sam stares at him while his wide eyes lock with the mark and the effect his touch has on it. Sure enough it's like a second and third paw print reveal themselves. Spooked by their magical appearance, Sam grabs Castiel by the wrist to pull him away and hold his now trembling body near at once on a whim of concern. "Cas? Talk to me… please?" Last thing he needs is for Castiel to run in fear. What he wants is an answer to why his heart surges with more than love… as if he feels whole, healed for the first time in a far too long time.

"They are…" Castiel lowers his voice gone full of awe, and Sam has to strain to hear his stammered explanation. "Soul marks? I've never seen them, but it is what they must be. I don't know how… Sam, I am sorry… this is so rare… reckless… feral… like me."

Sam frowns at the admission spoken full of hurt and self-blame. "Why?" He doesn't get it, until he does, remembering the day when he figured out what Castiel was. What the Man of Letters had written about Familiar kind and them losing their powers over time, because they'd cast aside their true natures out of fear and sorrow. How their human selves however tend to act on animal instincts, including the drive to seek out a mate. How magic guides them and glues them to said life partner, a witch. His kind. Sam can feel the tingle of their connection pulsing stronger than ever under his skin now that he's paying proper attention to it. How Castiel fills his soul and how he completes it. The mark on his skin is only an extension of what his heart has been trying to tell him for a while. This ain't a mistake or anyone's fault… far from it. This is what their souls want, nothing more and nothing less.

"No, Cas, don't be sorry." Sam kisses the nearest cheek to voice that he isn't angry or upset, far from it. "These speak for nothing more than what we've felt all along. You and I. Us, two broken fools. To have this chance at love… I don't… life is too short. I ain't going to regret the day you fell into my lap, do you?"

"Never… which means…" Sadness fades for a flutter of raw, undisguised curiosity. Castiel slips his wrist from his grip to push the remaining sheets back from his own thighs and legs. His eyes widen with awed understanding even as he points out the second truth of the morning. There too are markings on Castiel, three clear paw prints on his left thigh, all perfectly identical in placement and appearance to his. "Sam…"

Unable to resist them Sam reaches out to touch the markings, smiling when they react to his fingers with a soft flutter and deep glow of golden brown. It blows his mind how the world of magic moves so fast. How his heart seems to lead his mind onto this reckless path with Castiel. There's so much he doesn't know about the man in his bed, but he's looking forwards to uncover more of him. Truth is that his body too is way ahead of him. Their continued closeness is not something Sam can bear to lose and so he kisses Castiel on his cheek, his throat, and lips, claiming them to speak of everything he is feeling. In the pause for air he wastes no time to ask for what he hopes they both want, "Make love to me?"

"Yeah." The answer comes out as more of a sexy purr than an actual human sound. With one gentle push Castiel asks him to lie back onto the bed, and Sam doesn't hesitate to follow the unspoken request. He's more than happy to have back those tender hands of worship on his skin. The warm fingers that tease the flesh of his thigh, abdomen, and hips… and how they slowly centre to where his swollen cock speaks for his arousal in no uncertain terms. A thumb brushes over his slick, pre-come leaking tip, sending an intense shiver of pleasure into his body. It's enough to make him cry out in his pleasure.

This morning is no time for taking it slow. Something has unleashed inside of Sam, a reckless desire he can't ignore… and so he reaches out to grab Castiel by the hips and urge him nearer. Glad to have caught him at last. "Cas… please… I need you inside of me." He spreads his legs and bends his knee for his love to crawl in between. Waits for him to do so without any shyness, smiling when his plea is taken for the permission it is and Castiel reaches for a pillow to settle it under his hips for easier access. Oh, how he wants…

Slick fingers smooth over his rim, pressing soft until his body allows one of them entrance. With a sigh and a shiver of pleasure he relaxes around the sweet intrusion. To his joy Castiel wastes no time to curl his finger against his prostate… and again. Soon another finger seeks and finds his entrance, slipping inside to further drive up the pleasure. Every touch tender and persistent in opening his ass up for what they both have craved since waking up.

At last Castiel pushes into him, unhurried and yet determined to strike home in one go. Sam relishes the slide of his hard cock over his walls. Shivers through each second of the pleasurable caress, moaning for more with breathless pants. It's so intense and yet so easy to become one. To have Castiel bury himself deep into his ass with even thrusts… driving him insane with each next roll of strong hips, bottoming out on each one too as if stating his claim by deed alone.

Even though his weaker lower half can not quite master meeting the demanding pace by itself Sam is not let down. Castiel holds onto him to support his every attempt. Selfish needs have no place here. Lust is shared. Being one is to work as one. Moving faster… and as their pleasure reaches for great heights their rhythm falters to reckless, hard thrusts aimed to deadly precision. Sam can only surrender now… wants for nothing more than for the sensual high to last. To stay whole for once. Yet the intensity of their love making slowly becomes too much to keep inside. Everything in his body screams for release soon… begs for him to let go… and so he does, clenching hard around the one who fills him to such utter and absurd completion.

"Castiel!" His cry of release breaks off when he feels Castiel following him there. His insides are painted with semen as he rides out wave after wave of pleasure. Basking in their closeness, Sam pulls his familiar atop of him, unwilling to let go, desperate for his body to say what he dare not admit to out loud due to his fear of losing another person he's opened his heart to, " _I love you_."

* * *

The days are drawing shorter now, but only outside where falling snow dusts the streets. It's gone cold and frosty. Enough so that Castiel no longer roams the forest. No, he prefers it to stay inside of the blue-walled house at the end of the village… to perch on the desk, book in his lap. To watch Sam reading lore with a frown of concentration on his forehead. Surrounded by books old and new. The smell of them mixed in with dried herbs and everything Sam. Peaceful silence, broken only if they turn a page or if one of them moves onto another book. Reading… but perhaps not anymore.

Oh, how easily is the feline half of him distracted. Not even in human form can Castiel deny what he is… and he no longer needs to, not like before. Sam doesn't mind making more of a mess of his hair, to scratch him between his ears even when they are not pointed and covered with fur. In fact, the hunter he lives with is far too spot on at finding his ticklish spots. Not that Castiel ever complaints, because heaven knows that they both need the joy such moments bring… the lightness to chase the dark shadows of their past away. The now though is where they've chosen to dwell.

A hand on his thigh breaks him from falling into a wistful mood. The heat of Sam's large palm sinks through his jeans and into his human flesh. His soulmate mark responds unseen, turning dark golden for recognizing the one who holds his heart in that same palm. Sam smiles up at him, feeling it too in the way only a witch can sense one of his kind. "Where are you?", he asks.

"In here, with you", Castiel reassures him. On a whim he leans down to kiss Sam on the tip of his pointed nose. While he relishes the sight of eyes going soft with love, his mind is two steps ahead of the slow desire rising. What the cat in him draws to lies on the filled saucer stood on the other side of the desk… for which he has to lean over further and reach past Sam. Stretch out his fingers too to steal his treasure with a triumphant grin. Smiling, he bites into the home-baked chocolate chip cookie. A soft sound of pleasure escapes him unchallenged. His inner cat settles down even as Sam shakes his head at him.

Rather than correct him, Castiel shrugs. So what if he can't help himself? After the anniversary of their one season relationship he knows better than to be shy of his true nature around Sam. If anything, he's come to love helping his witch bake his favourite treats. To both mess around in the kitchen. Making dough, getting flour on their cheeks, and finding distraction in each other while the oven finishes off their work. Being domestic in this house contains a different meaning than what he used to know. He's no longer restricted or reduced to an indoors existence by order.

Now it is his choice to repeat his move to grab the orange lying forgotten next to the saucer. Mouth still full of sweetness he begins to peel away the thick skin of the fruit, preparing it for his witch. From the wry smile send his way Castiel catches that Sam knows what he is up to, that he's not being subtle at all. Sam knows how he has forgotten another meal in the name of research, and he understands why Castiel takes it upon himself to care for him.

"You know, I can take care of myself", Sam objects.

"So you say", Castiel isn't impressed by the weak protest.

Sam leans back in his wheelchair, looking up at him. His always colourful eyes shift along with their mood, from green to brown as if the fire in the hearth adds on an amber glow to his emotions. He pats his lap then to invite Castiel in for a cuddle. Tempting him to yield…

Undeterred, though tempted to shift, Castiel continues to peel the sweet-smelling orange. Once it pops free, he slides off his perch on the desk. Sam should know better than to challenge him. Does too, judging from the way he grins when Castiel sits himself down on his lap. Careful not to put too much of his weight where Sam can't carry him Castiel presses two of his gone sticky fingers against his lips to keep within whatever may follow his startled gasp of "Cas".

His play for mischief meets an equal force when Sam licks his tongue over his fingertips, teasingly. "Gotcha." Sam emphasises his claim on Castiel with one hand around his hip and another sneaking under his pink flannels to settle on the small of his back. "I could eat you instead…" The whisper of filth is spoken against his ear, like a playful and sinful promise at once.

A shiver of lust sends his blood south even as Castiel denies them both. Two can play this game, and so instead of kissing Sam, like he makes out to do, he waits for lips to part and feeds them a juicy part of orange. Sam though refuses to play fair. Even as he chews then swallows, he brushes the thumb buried underneath Castiel's flannel downwards to tease the skin beneath the hem of his jeans in suggestion of what is to come. Arousal and shyness colour their cheeks, but they can't help themselves in seeking more closeness. Lips part for him again… inviting him… and closing around another slice of fruit… and his fingertips alike. A warm, wet touch far too chaste, but tempting enough to keep up what they are doing. A promise for later, after?

Six pieces in and somehow Castiel feels like his jeans have gotten too tight. Damned Sam and the intensity of his unwavering gaze upon him, now darkened as his pupils dilate with unbridled lust. Seven, eight, nine parts… and there's still too much of the orange left, and yet not enough. Castiel isn't sure if he's buying himself time or if he wants what Sam whispers about between bites.

"I am going to have my way with you for a change. Bend you over my desk… naked from the waist down… so I can have a taste of you… licking you open… until you can't take it anymore…" The bastard wipes his lips gone wet from the juice in the orange slices with the same filthy tongue he uses to unravel him.

All gone! Sure enough, neither Castiel nor Sam bothers with his flannels. His jeans lie forgotten on the floor but seconds after the last orange part is fed to an eager mouth. Blushing with mostly arousal, Castiel inhabits the moment like he's never been allowed to or dared to before. Under guidance of large hands, he knows well he bends over the desk, legs spread wider in a stance that leaves him open and vulnerable. He's not scared though. Feels only the reckless want that curls up his spine while Sam wheels as close to him as he can get. The same caring hands move over his flank… his hips and thighs… then back up to where his legs meet. Anticipation rushes into him, stirring up his cock gone hard and wet. "Please", Castiel pleads, breathless.

Reckless and oh-so-perfect Sam laps at his opening. Sweet pleasure sparks to life from nerve endings never before touched like this, quite so intimately and tenderly so. His legs go weak when the wet caress sneaks inside of him, curling and pressing against his rim. Seeking, a little hesitant maybe, but growing bolder as Sam taps further into his inner courage and strength. That stubborn force of hope and love which has even the devil afraid at times. That sheer need to please another is now aimed solely at Castiel, not reigned in, and not denied in turn. No, he gets this. Wants it more than he's ever wanted to be worshipped by another man. His cat-self too rejoices in the pure primal sensations of Sam's tongue brushing over his walls… and again.

His cry of pleasure echoes in the study, settles even as Sam grins, undeterred in his assault. Castiel has to grab a hold of the edge of the desk not to lose his footing. He feels like he's floating on the sensation of being filled with persistent stabs of wet, delightful warmth. It doesn't even matter anymore that his leaking cock lies trapped between the desk and his abdomen. He wants its ache for release to last. Needs its pain of being denied touch to feel alive, owned, and caught by the hunter who eats him out as if he is his last meal. Wants to surrender so that Sam can regain his self-worth. Respect his love's need to care for another for a change, rather than remain only the one cared for.

Fingers now too sink into his heat. Deep, combined with shallow fucks of that wicked tongue. Endless brushes over his sweet spot and it's still not enough to let go on. So close, but he's still untouched where he's hard as hell. Hurting. Desperate to soil his flannels and the desk alike. Worse off when Sam leaves him open to kiss the swell of his ass chastely, asking him for his implicit surrender. "I've got you… come, for me, my silly cat… come apart on my tongue."

As if by now the endearment of acceptance isn't stirring up enough feelings inside of him Sam adds oil onto the fire with a precise curl of his tongue… and another, striking home hard. Setting him free in a rush of maddening bliss. His cry of relief may or may not be human. It too may have been answered with a low growl but a few seconds later, after Sam took himself in hand. He's too mind-blown and sated to sense anything else but the hands which carefully guide him down to where he started. Back with Sam, sitting in his lap, getting kissed within an inch of his life.

"Sam…" He curls up against Sam, unable to resist his instincts of belonging. A purr stirs up within his body and for the first time in years he dares to let it speak for what his shattered mind can not make the words for at present; " _I love you._ "


End file.
